Burning In the Hanging Fire
by d i n o b o t
Summary: Chained by the wrath of rejection and disorder, Ash still can't find the right words to say to the girl he truly loves. Pokeshipping.


burning in the hanging fire  
by - dinobot

_this is dedicated for those mute in tongue and heart_.

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'And here comes the kick--its good!'

A series of cheers and screams repeatedly echoed throughout the bar. Drinks clattered against one another and people continued on with their usual static nonsense cheering for their team on the screen.

'Its 20-17 Slateport Seaking over the Cinnabar Magmar with 2:24 seconds left in the fourth quarter. This next drive by the Magmar could win it all!'

'It's all so pointless!' Or at lease that is what he thought. A man rested at the bar, half confused and half annoyed. 'Do they really have to do that?' he pleaded. 'I'm trying to wallow in my self-pity.'

Ash Ketchum looked from his glass, staring into the walls stacked with bottles filled with life's sweet release. He smirked to himself and finished what was in his cup. Seven shot glasses lined neatly in front of him, but to Ketchum is was probably more like a dozen. He stared harder at the counter top. Ash fell into an overwhelming trance, his mind began to reminisce. His rapture shattered with another repercussion of the crowd watching the game. Ash shook his head.

'Do they have to be so loud?'

He rose from his seat and slapped a half crumpled twenty dollar bill on the counter. Ash walked to the door, bumping into chairs and unconcerned people as he stumbled to the exit.

"Wait a minute, Mr. Ketchum!"

Ash slowly turned to where he thought he heard his name. "Oh Jack, yeah thanks for the drinks. I'll be going now," he smiled sluggishly and headed towards the door.

"Ash, I can't let you drive home," Jack grabbed on his black leather jacket. Unaware of his actions Ash continued to reach the outside, and found himself staring into the fan.

His friend helped him up. Jack produced a sharp expression moving Ash to forfeit his keys. He reached into his jacket pocket and heard the clatter of the metal against the bar tendor's sweaty palm.

"Fine, I guess I'll walk home," he slurred. He turned away from the bar tender, stumbling to the exit. "I'll be here to get that later, okay? Okay!"Ash turned back answering his own question.

The cool breezes made Ash's hair dance behind his face. The streetlights were hypnotizing. The cars sped passed him, Ash tried to avoid the passing people bumping into his shoulders. He could see his breath turn to mist on the freezing night. The crowds thinned. Only a few lost souls wandered the streets this late. He looked at a nearby clock in the window of a department store.

1:31am

"Ugh," Ash groaned. "Oh god, the landlord isn't gonna like this," Ash grumbled uncomfortably. The landlord doesn't like disturbances after 10:00pm.

"Even that I'm of legal age, the attendant always bitches about this type of thing. I really need a new apartment," he ranted to himself.

Ash shook the blurry from his eyes. The neon signs hurt them. Another car came past and decided to shower Ketchum in sewer water. Ash looked at himself and then the passing car.

"You son of a bitch!" He yelled, even though it was obvious the driver was out of hearing range. Ash shook his head in frustration, and slowly dried his face with his sleeve.

The moon refused to welcome him anymore; the stars faded by the pinks and purples of industrialized pollution and tall ridged skyscrapers. Ash reminded himself of his training days where he could always see the stars clearly on the road. Everything felt simple back then. There was not a constant dispatching of creditors on his ass, scraping for something to eat, or being hammered by a workaholic boss. Things had certainly changed

"She right, I guess I do have trouble concentrating. Oh well, that's in the past," Ash sighed. He collapsed on a nearby bench, decorated in old newspapers. His legs were hurting.

Ash peered into the back of his eyelids. The sounds of the cheering crowd still rang in his ears. Ash smiled inwardly, another dispersed memory he hadn't abandoned yet. He could remember the 'good days,' on the road doing whatever he pleased.

The sudden breathe of cold winter air hit him back to reality. Sluggishly pulled himself up, despite of his aching feet. He continued to walk solemnly among the loose trash that had been following him through the mischievous wind.

"Oh man," he slightly mumbled to himself. The light in the attendants building was still lit. Ash's frown faded into a crooked smile. "What he won't know not hurt him," he chuckled. Ash dropped to all fours and crawled his way past the window, murmuring that he was a genius of some sort.

Unfortunately the landlord was outside. He walked to his door and found the strange Ash Ketchum crawling drunkenly across the sidewalk, muttering something to himself that he concluded to be too stupid to decipher.

"Ketchum!"

The sudden clamor caused the ignorant boy to jump. He found himself starring innocently into the enemy's face, his fingers clinging to the frozen concrete walkway.

"Oh its you, hya!" he responded.

"Don't 'hya' me Ketchum!"

Ash frowned. The disappointed boy jumped up to his feet and leaned against the wall. "Oh okay then, hi there!" He smiled through the darkness. The landlord's eyes were burning with fury. It wasn't even funny to piss him off even more.

"Look Ketchum, I told you to be home at curfew. What part of that don't you understand?"

Ash stared at him blankly and smiled again. "Oh all of it I suppose," he reached over and put his arm around the landlord. "But ya'know what Mr. Smith, you're a nice guy, I think we should both sleep on it—yeah sounds like a plan."

Mr. Smith furiously looked at the boy. He was either insane or intoxicated--maybe a little bit of both. He shook the hold the drunk Ash had on him, "Look you little punk, I'm still waiting for your rent for the last three months! I've had it with you! If you don't get it to me by Monday, I'm going to kick you out!" he sneered.

It was to Mr. Smith's advantage Ash was drunk. On other circumstances Ash would have probably would have knocked him flat. Ash's head sank, and he headed upstairs. Ash heard the click from his door, and then it creaked open. The apartment was darkened.

Ash flicked the light switch hoping that some marvelous anomaly or phenomenon had cleaned his place an inch of what he left it in. To his delight there were some things in their rightful places. He took a second look.

"Oh, maybe it's just me."

He shrugged to himself as he turned on the T.V. The light of the television actually made him feel less infinitesimal than he already was. He picked up the remote and switched the channels. Ash's disappointed expressions concluded that overnight television was as boring as sitting at the bar.

His eyes stared into the burnished screen.

"Cooking shows. Reruns. Soap Operas. News. Pornos--nah."

The angered Ash was about to throw the remote across the room of discouragement. But there was hope. The remote slipped from his palm and landed on the carpet. It randomly hit a button and forced a show out.

It caught his eye. The sounds of the shrieking crowd resurfaced lost memories. In a split second there were thousands of images that pressed into his eyes. He stared into the back of his eyelids, millions of faces, situations, reflections, and adventures tore into his mind. He felt himself back in that championship stadium, with victory and courage as his common companion, and a will for facing adventure and adversity.

Always traveling, overcoming obstacles and overwhelming odds. Looking danger in its smug little eyes and prevailing. Lying in front of the countless stars. Under the haunting moonlight that gave him silent refuge from the days problems. And a girl.

He shattered his peace, breathing hard and feeling the sweat form on his forehead. It was like a terrible nightmare.

"No more of this crap."

Ash left the sofa, stained with various colors. He kicked off his shoes, and unfortunately hit the left wall. Ash held his breath and dreaded the response.

"Dammit Ketchum, I'm trying to sleep!" the muffled reply reached his uncaring ears through the wall. Ash narrowed his eyes, flipped off the wall, and headed towards the kitchen.

"Oh man," he groaned. There before them lay the most dirtiest kitchen on the planet. In the sink lay many dishes with food clinging on the surface. The countertops still greasy with pots and pans that Ash knowingly left out. And he swore he saw an unknown small insect living in those parricidal traps. He shuddered.

"So I'm lazy, did I have to have this kind of punishment?"

The refrigerator door creaked open, the small bulb winking its last life.

"Lets see," he paused. "We got water, and--water. Damn, I need to go to the store," he laughed to himself. He lifted his eyebrow. Only a complete lunatic would venture in the back of his fridge.

He managed to recover a few pieces of leftover jerky. The salty snack tore into his weak gums. After a serious of chews and grinds the piece of stale meat was finally gone.

Ash walked down the hallway, kicking various clothes carelessly strewn about the ground. He brushed his teeth and washed his face. The boy stared into his reflection. It certainly wasn't such a compelling sight. His face dripped with shining water reflecting off the mirror and the above maimed light source. One of the light bulbs in the bathroom had burned out, leaving only one side of the room partially fed with light, the other gone.

Half of his face covered in darkness. A line of light and perpetual darkness ran half across his unkempt and tattered appearance. He saw nobody staring back to him, not a single person that was worth caring for. The only thing Ash deemed he was good for was to help plants oxygenate the earth.

He sighed. "Much help I've been, huh? Wasting my talents at the bottom of a shot-glass. Who really cares about dreams anyways? I've gave up that sort of thing a long time ago."

There was a struggle to get into his room. Something was blocking his way. With one hard shove, the door gave up. Ash flew into his room and found himself buried in his own mess. Shouting silent curses to himself, Ash brushed off his dirty laundry off himself and back on the floor.

A blinking light found curiosity and caused him to sit on his bed. He sank halfway through, and pressed the button.

Beep

**Message one**: "Hello, Ash? Pick up this is Brock. Hello? Right, you're probably screening. Listen, um we should get together and hang out sometime. Haven't seen you in a couple weeks. Well, I'll see you later. Bye."

Beep

**Message two**: Yes, Hello? Mr. Ketchum. Your gas and electric bills are overdue again and w- **Message two erased.**

Beep

**Message three**: Hello I'm trying to reach Mr. Ketchum; we've given you three notic- **Message three erased.**

Beep

**End of Messages**

Ash let out a displeased groan. It seemed forever. He stared at the phone, debating whether to pick it up. Would he do it this time?

"I still do. I love her," he whispered.

The cord dropped to the floor, Ash listened to the whine of the telephone, already in lost thought.

"What am I supposed to do? You don't just tell a girl you love her after so many years. She's probably already married. Kids. The whole deal. So why the hell am I bothered with doing this?"

Ash tried to release the phone, but he couldn't. An inner desire made the phone inseparable to his fingers. His hand grasped it even though he tried with all of his might to drop the damn thing.

The world around him seemed to rest on this phone call, but he was still drunk. Still wasted. But he had full conscience on what he was doing. There was a last sigh in the darkness. He dialed. He knew the numbers well. The diminutive light panged his eyes. He closed them. He waited patiently as three tedious rings clamored in his right ear; then a beep.

'Hello, you've reached the phone of Misty Kasumi Waterf-'

"Hello?"

Ash's eyes shot open.

"Hello?"

The voice is like he remembered it. Nothing came out of his mouth, even though he felt to explain so much to her. He regretted to hesitate, but still wishedthe opportunity were still there. He sighed deeply.

"Hello?"

Ash released another sigh, for she had hung up. She had given up—and so did he.

He felt a new set of hot tears penetrate the surface. He finally released the phone and fell to the ground, still humming its tune. The pillow engulfed him, making all his fears and personal demons dissipate until tomorrow.

'Maybe another day,' he thought. 'Yeah, maybe another day.'

There was a quiet silence and then a soft snoring. The winking light finally perished and gave out. It blinked against the dark and gave no birth to the shadows.

The moon hung like a notorious lantern, hanging softly in the cold. It still was a young night and a young life but to Ash it was dead. His faith and optimism died with the shattering of a vacant phone call, but would harvest again the next few nights like it always did. There was no love, pain, or hope. The chains of rejection grew larger under many years of wanting, not having. Drowning in a pool of dismay and forging the desire that was lost years ago to his ignorance and fears. He echoed the name he lost, never telling her of how he felt and if she replied with his feelings, and thus could not let her go.

end

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"Its not like I can't forget her, its just I won't." – the flu


End file.
